


Late Night Celebration Rituals

by Kalyppso



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Nonbinary Character, Other, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rimming, Romance, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27947351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalyppso/pseuds/Kalyppso
Summary: A reimagining of the night of the tiefling party. Étoile, a nonbinary High Elf OC, finds themselves at the center of attention, and chooses to spend the night with Astarion.
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Late Night Celebration Rituals

**Author's Note:**

> Étoile is my High Elf OC. [They have a tag on my blog.](https://omgkalyppso.tumblr.com/tagged/oc-tag%3A-%C3%A9toile) They're afab nonbinary and the language in this fic is going to reflect that. Also, my current headcanon for their heights is Étoile is 5'11" or 180 cm and Astarion is 5'06" or 167 cm.
> 
> Étoile's interactions with the other party members is not meant to be character hate or otherwise negative in any way.

The party began, as they often do, with music and dancing, and a generous distribution of drink. Étoile and Wyll each initially forwent alcohol in favor of roughhousing, playing with the tiefling children, and even dragging Lae’zel into a boastful feat of strength when arm-wrestling began.

Slowly, the children were rounded to bed. Yet for the moment, Étoile danced with Arabella in their arms, having already spared a song for Mattis and Silfy, thanking them again for their ring, even knowing of its complete lack of brilliance.

The children were too old to play pretend, and they knew the crimes they had committed, but, like Étoile, Astarion imagined it had been a long time in their little lives since they’d been given the benefit of the doubt, or allowed to act like children. Ten minutes before bed, to be swayed in arms and serenaded, seemed permissible.

Besides. They weren’t the only ones feeling young.

Étoile was speaking with the bards and the storytellers when they looked across to where Astarion was not listening to the drunken tiefling by his side. The vampire smiled around another mouthful of wine as Étoile’s amber eyes darted away, as though they had been the one caught staring, and not him. Having seen his reaction, Étoile looked back to smile earnest and genuine at Astarion, clearly taking amusement from his circumstance.

Astarion answered by cocking his head back and rolling his eyes. He politely acknowledged the presence of his tiefling companion, still stuck with them stubbornly unaware of the one-sided nature of their conversation.

It would be another few minutes until Étoile was relieved of their conversation and able to pursue Astarion, saving him from his. They hadn’t even needed to speak to do so, inebriated as he was, the tiefling recognized the pair of them for the companions that they were, and excused themselves to sit with a number of their own friends, playing cards by the river.

Étoile and Astarion stood in quiet amusement for a few moments afterwards, eyes wandering, laughter threatening. Astarion broke the silence between them, swaying, intentionally, out of sync with the music to try and steal Étoile’s attention, out of time with their party, “You know,” and he let himself look wistful, a show for his companion, giving him the attention his last conversation had not, “I never pictured myself as a hero.” He gestured with his bottle of wine at the tieflings seated in a circle, betting on things that weren’t their lives. “Never thought I’d be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…” Astarion drank from his bottle, letting the idea fester in Étoile’s mind, wondering if he could shock them when he finally concluded, a sneer of disgust on his features. “I hate it. This is awful.”

Étoile kept smiling, hands on their hips. Astarion’s drink and exhaustion made his theatrics border upon bombastic, and they were hardly shocked. They goaded in response, “You did a good thing. You could enjoy yourself.”

“Enjoy myself?” Astarion almost slipped into true insult, despite the question nestling in his mind. He wanted to enjoy himself, certainly, but the idea of actually celebrating saving the lives of others, even for one more day, when his own was in such a state of peril, made him feel bitter, and reclusive. He’d just as easily have killed them all, if that was what their little band had decided to do, or at least, so he told himself. He elaborated, “There’s a worm in my brain, hunters on my trail, and all I’ve got to drink is wine that tastes of vinegar.”

Nimble and curious, Étoile reached out to snag Astarion’s bottle from his hand, swallowing a heavy mouthful of the rich wine. They took a moment to catch their breath, mouth hidden behind their wrist, as they considered Astarion’s choice of words. Lying about the wine. Did that mean he was lying about enjoying himself? Lying about dreaming of being toasted for benevolence?

“See what I mean? Awful.”

However, Astarion’s continued request of solidarity in the quality of the wine really confused Étoile. If the wine was good, but Astarion didn’t think it so, then was that a result of tannins? Undeath? Had Astarion simply never been able to tell good wine from bad? They returned the bottle, trying not to overthink it.

“All I want is a little fun,” Astarion insisted. “Is that so much to ask?”

Étoile’s lips parted slightly, teeth still together, their expression mostly unchanged, so their joy gave way to wonder, and suspicion. They knew what they hoped Astarion’s supposition meant, but there were so much to be said about vampires, some had even been true. Moreover, Étoile worried they had made assumptions about Astarion’s outrage from before, where he had admitted to being twisted beyond his control into torturing himself and others — as that would surely change anyone. Perhaps he missed pain, and it wouldn’t do to just agree to trying to indulge Astarion’s sense of fun, in case it turned out bleak or destructive.

But neither did Étoile mean to accuse him. Perhaps Astarion simply missed a good riddle?

Their tongue felt swollen in their mouth, and speaking risked breaking them into an even wider smile. Calm as they could, they managed to ask, “And what’s your idea of ‘a little fun?’”

“By the Hells,” Astarion cursed, facepalming. He extended his arms behind himself, leaning his face forward, exaggerating, loud, cheeky and, if he were being honest with himself, staking some sort of claim, “ **Sex,** my dear. A night of passion.” He straightened his posture, satisfied with the attention he’d pulled upon them, people turning their heads politely, with some conversations hushed for gossip. However, the indulgence of the moment wasn’t their interest, it was the way Étoile had very nearly gasped, looking away to the earth and then up through the shadow of their lashes, the way they were blushing, not scandalized, but imaginative, the way their body language expressed gratitude to that questionable Goddess of theirs, that _this_ had been the direction their conversation had been turning.

Astarion tilted his wine bottle, letting the contents slosh, trying to appear no more than suitably pleased as he suggested, “Let’s wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep,” he wrapped his arms around himself, smug, “we’ll find each other.”

Étoile felt very aware of how straight they were standing, and shifted their weight from one foot to another, before stressing about projecting anxiety. They could feel the extra eyes upon them, but they looked no further than Astarion out of desire, rather than embarrassment.

“I’d like that.”

Étoile squinted in disbelief, as the crowds turned away, having assumed their answer would have invited further scrutiny and interest, rather than less.

They thought for a moment of throwing themselves at Astarion, suggesting they leave now, considering he obviously didn’t give two whits about whether things were quieted down or not, but the night _was_ young, and Étoile didn’t want to risk sneaking off with time enough for Astarion to want to come wandering back; they wouldn’t want to face their friends for a few hours afterwards.

“I’ll, um,” Étoile cleared their throat with another solid hum. “Then I’ll see you later?”

Astarion’s expression melted into softness, a sincerity reserved for his friend. “Indeed you will, my love. Indeed you will.”

Their throat tight, Étoile struggled both to dismiss the mental image of Astarion’s literalism, and the feelings tied to the new sobriquet he’d graced them with. They wandered to where a table of bottles was laid out, and accepted a chalice from a tiefling seated beside them, Astarion’s procurement of a whole bottle suddenly odd and humorous.

Turning, Étoile encountered Wyll, who greeted them heartily, starting a toast to their shared victory, but ending his statement with thinly veiled jealousy about them and Astarion, and Étoile was surprised. They had enjoyed Wyll’s honor and wit, but hadn’t thought the two of them so close that Wyll should find himself interested. As politely as possible, they stumbled through an apology, and were relieved that, while hurt, for reasons beyond Étoile’s understanding, Wyll was obviously just as genuine in his affection as his friendship, and did not seem as though he would be eternally bitter over this misunderstanding.

Étoile felt far more insecure about their standing with Gale, who’s lamentation over their “unavailability” for the night and verbalized distaste for Astarion left Étoile insulted and uncomfortable. They felt they barely knew this man despite the days spent between them, and would not have even entertained the idea of sleeping with him were the alternative to sleep alone. When Gale seemed to gather himself, and offer instead that he would share more about his condition and need of magical artefacts soon, another night, Étoile felt unsure they even cared to know, the shambles of their budding friendship with the mage casting a pall over the rest of the conversation.

Leaving Gale’s company, Étoile found themselves stopped by Shadowheart, expressing a shock of fondness for the tieflings, a prejudice Étoile hadn’t shared, but which was a distracting conversation, and surely a sign that she too was deep in her cups, considering how few emotions she had a desire to admit to otherwise.

Relaxed, by Shadowheart and one more cup of wine both, Étoile made their way across camp to where their pack sat with the rest of their companions’, Lae’zel leaning — lounging — against the nearby stones. She too was aware of their business as they fumbled through their things. She taunted, in all seriousness, that it was too bad that they had promised themselves to Astarion, when she was so clearly the superior choice. While Lae’zel’s expression of interest was just as surprising as the others, it felt more complimentary in its lack of emotional baggage and expectation, which left room for the two of them to breathe. No love lost between them, they shared laughter and conversation.

Étoile didn’t stay long in Lae’zel’s company, but they felt refreshed all the same, emboldened, certainly, when they approached one of the tiefling traders, this man less drunk than the others for the sake of minding their wares.

It would be over two hours more before they noticed Astarion nodding to them by the river’s edge, offering a direction to follow, when an opportunity should arise.

They followed the river westward, wondering about stories of vampires. Could Astarion hear their heartbeat as it hiccupped in anticipation? What about their breathing, deep and self-soothing as they tried to calm their nerves? Or at least their footsteps, sliding over sand and stone as they tried to keep from sinking into the soft earth, or, conversely, from skipping in excitement?

Étoile found Astarion carved in moonlight, looking as though he might sigh in relief; a lover unloved, a man in waiting.

He was leaning against an old, gnarled tree in a clearing off the riverbank, a bedroll laid out by his feet. Adjusting his shirts, Astarion stood straight, cherishing how Étoile slowed their pace, barely contained laughter and infatuation on their face.

Astarion let Étoile link their hands when they reached him, and puffed out his chest as if he expected an embrace. When none came, it was natural for Astarion to fall back onto his heels, and run his thumbs over Étoile’s hands.

“There you are,” he teased, ducking forward, perhaps just to be obnoxious about the proximity between the two of them, but he smiled as his partner took it as an invitation.

“Here I am,” Étoile agreed. They pulled Astarion’s hands closer to them, a soft squeeze of assurance as they dipped their head to meet him in a kiss. Three soft pecks, with a press of tongue upon the second, affection given willingly that left the vampire dizzy and content.

“I thought that—” Astarion stopped himself. The words, _‘you mightn’t come,’_ were too revealing. There was a difference in the physical exposure forthcoming, and the personal exposure the admittance would risk. “They would keep you longer.”

“I knew you were waiting,” Étoile assured him, releasing Astarion’s hands, pressing their fingertips to the sides of his neck, feeling the vibrations of his speech as he answered them. They caressed back into his hairline, behind his ears.

“I’ve been waiting a long time,” Astarion exaggerated, after a fashion, as it felt true anyway, to have been waiting for freedom, and the benefits that came with it. He leaned into the touch and the embellishment. “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting,” Astarion paused, playful and dramatic, “to have you.”

Astarion let his hands creep around Étoile’s hips as his partner chuckled, swaying them closer to himself. He was trying to measure Étoile’s expectations, and what his role was; whether he should sigh as they twirled two fingers in his curls, or present a more controlled front.

Leaning in, Étoile pressed their lips to the side of Astarion’s forehead, kissing across to the edge of his ear, breathing, warm and open-mouthed, over the sensitive skin, withholding the touch of their mouth even as Astarion found himself turning his head. He thought to protest, but then Étoile spoke.

“No longer. Let’s sit down.”

Astarion did his best not to let Étoile’s assurances bury themselves inside him; their words were for the moment, to be cherished and discarded like cut flowers; pretty and useless. He nodded, slipping away from them and extending a hand, letting them sit upon the bedroll, back to the tree.

He hadn’t expected them to instantly pull away their gloves and reach for the leather straps on their upper arms.

His surprise didn’t go unnoticed, and Étoile spoke as if they sought to bargain with him, “Just one layer?”

Astarion frowned as he sat by Étoile’s knees, his legs half bent to keep his boots from the blanket. “My Dear…” He shook his head. “Undress as you like.” Étoile found their eyes drawn to Astarion’s pale hands, reaching up to lift the circlet from their forehead. “I didn’t invite you here for conversation.”

Étoile scoffed and plucked at another buckle, soon tossing their bracers and elbow pads in the pile with their gloves. They nodded at Astarion, seeking more confirmation before working the clasps on the two belts at their waist. When they reached for the cords at the bottom of their chainmail, Astarion interrupted, “May I?”

“Oh, I—? Yes, you may.”

They let Astarion advance upon them, pressing their hands down into the cool blanket, exaggerating their posture in preparation of Astarion’s proximity. Étoile felt, more than saw how those sharp fingertips loosened the knots and pulled the fastenings slack.

“This might’ve been easier with you standing,” Astarion observed.

“Should I?”

“No,” Astarion chuckled, slipping cold fingertips inside the front of Étoile’s collar, and pulling the sides away from one another.

Astarion fell back to sit on his ass while Étoile moved to a knee, pulling at the noisy chainmail until they could drag their armor overhead, letting it fall heavily on the pile of their things. Étoile did their best to adjust their hair afterwards, frizzy and mussed from their collar, which gave Astarion time to reconcile with Étoile’s exposure.

Their shirt wasn’t form fitting, but Astarion had expected more of their shoulders and arms to have been exaggerated and padded by the armor. Additionally, besides the allure of their frame, Astarion was struck by the presentation of their hairy, muscled forearms, below where their sleeves ended at the elbow. His gaze followed Étoile’s arms to where their hands were giving up whatever it was they had been doing with their hair to instead unbind their half-bun, wrapping their ribbon around their left wrist, curling their hair behind their ears, revealing the rose tattoo on their neck.

Crawling forward, Astarion extended his right hand to cradle Étoile’s jaw, slipping his hand beneath theirs so they only had to narrow the grip of their left hand to hold onto him, a prelude to deeper connection. Étoile shifted to be properly seated again, folding their right hand in the material over Astarion’s shoulder, encouraging him closer. They leaned into his kiss as though intimacy was easy, smiling as if they were comfortable, and Astarion found himself eager to urge them along, curious as to whether and when that smile would be lost in bliss.

Straddling Étoile’s right thigh, Astarion froze when he felt the fabric of his pants catch on the metal ringlets of the armor, and he brought his left hand down between his legs to feel at the seam, confirming they hadn’t just torn his only set of useful clothing.

“Does that hurt?” Étoile worried, dropping their left hand to Astarion’s hip, their right arm around his shoulders.

“No, I wasn’t—” Astarion began, trying to explain that he was concerned about his clothing and not his body, but then Étoile was manhandling him, pulling his pelvis close and cradling his back at an angle as they lay him on his side.

“Here,” Étoile insisted, as they moved Astarion, and then they sat back quietly, and found the buttons and buckles holding the last of their armor. Their motions might’ve exposed their stomach if, apparently, they weren’t wearing underclothes in the form of shorts that fit them from navel to knee.

They each giggled softly as Étoile dragged Astarion back in place, wrinkling the bedroll, so that he was on his back with them hovered over him on all fours, their left thigh between his legs.

Étoile licked their lips, a nervous smile measuring Astarion’s expression.

“Better?”

“You’re very warm,” Astarion purred, grinding himself against their thigh, and Étoile lowered themselves to kiss his lips again.

“That doesn’t sound like a complaint,” they observed.

“It wasn’t.”

“Good.”

They kissed, clumsy and ravenous while unbuttoning Astarion’s doublet. Although sometimes undressing had to wait while Étoile rolled their body between and around their friend’s legs, humping against him. Astarion held the small of their back and top of their ass during such outbursts, not having the reach to grope them as he’d want to. Étoile leaned back to keep from face-planting into Astarion when they got his outermost layer open and slid their hands around either side of his stomach, stretching the material of the white dress shirt beneath his doublet taught against him.

“I didn’t expect you to be so curious about me,” Astarion admitted, sliding his hands down those thick arms.

“Why’s that?” Étoile pushed their palms up over Astarion’s chest, bringing their thumbs to the buttons at the hollow of his collarbone.

“No,” he interrupted softly, hands around Étoile’s, keeping them from their task. He echoed, “Just one layer? For … for now.”

“Of course.” Étoile shuffled back further, giving Astarion room to sit up, letting him pull himself from his armor. 

They placed their hands on the center of Astarion’s chest afterwards, slowly applying pressure, letting their fingertips find the outline of his nipples through his shirt. “You build yourself up to be so interesting?” Étoile prompted while Astarion arched skyward, laying his hands over theirs.

He guided their hands to his hips as he sat up, pulling off his doublet. Afterwards, he nodded his nose against theirs until they tilted their mouth to his, so that he could kiss them, long and distracting and repeatedly. Astarion let his hands fall atop their chest, feeling the material of a third layer beneath Étoile’s shirt, and slid his grip up onto their shoulders. “Is there anywhere I shouldn’t touch you?”

Étoile let out a soft laugh, because _there_ was a question no lover had asked them before. They clenched their fists in Astarion’s shirt and pressed their forehead to his, eyes closed, taking a moment to bask in what his asking meant to them, with no doubt in their answer. They pulled away from him suddenly, and Astarion was gulping in air, as though he’d been holding his breath. Étoile wanted to be leaned enough away so they could look him in the eye as they answered, “Anywhere you don’t want to touch me.”

Astarion lowered his brow and tilted his head skeptically. “What a terrible answer.” He let his hands slip to their neck, where he could touch bare skin, and be vaguely threatening. “Now we will have to be so thorough, my love, so that you can accuse me of no such refusal.”

“Hnh?” Étoile hummed, smug, tilting their head back, exposing the recent scarring on their neck to his careful fingers.

Astarion turned his head too, to bite first upon their chin, a fruitless, playful gesture, and then to dive into that curve of their throat — but Étoile was surprised when none of the expected pleasure-pain and dizzying numbness followed Astarion’s motion. It was only his tongue, soft and unnaturally cool — though warmer than the rest of him, the embers of life mimicked by the mechanics of his body — that traced deliberate patterns between his lips, sucking on the scar tissue, causing a jolt to straighten Étoile’s back.

He kissed his way to their ear, letting his hands wander, one grasping their hair, the other pulsing a grip down the front of their chest, playfully groping them. “I thought,” Astarion began, but he paused when Étoile gasped in the wake of his breath and his voice, and smiled, and swept his tongue across their ear. “I thought that, rather than curious, you would simply seek to be consumed.” He bit upon their ear, and earned a whimper. “Known.” Slower, he lapped at the wound, his breath wavering upon the rush of the faintest taste of blood; the smallest droplet. “Tasted.”

“Yes.” Étoile’s confirmation was barely a word, a syllable in a sigh, and Astarion let the thrill of it feed his ego. He returned his mouth to that spot upon their neck, smug and content, and feeling his own blood run south as their hands flexed upon his shoulders. Astarion was gentle as he loosened his grip, petting softly at the hair around their ear, and cradling their side as he swallowed another three mouthfuls of blood.

They weren’t fighting him. More he could take, and more they would give, but besides the monumental inconvenience their death would be, Astarion dared not risk Étoile losing so much blood that whatever they got up to next wouldn't even be enjoyable for them.

“A good start?” Astarion teased, licking his lips and then their neck again to stem the severity of their injury.

After a long purr, Étoile chuckled. “We have not begun, Astarion.”

Astarion laughed too, at least as long as it took for Étoile to kiss his mouth and bite upon his lower lip in a way that his fangs would not allow him to do for them, without unfortunate after effects.

They were both animate as they pulled Étoile from their shirt, and their crop top beneath. Reservation was slipping away, like fog on the river, as bold lips and urgent hands sought necks and mouths and nipples, and the bulge between Astarion’s legs.

Étoile looked up to Astarion with happy, honey eyes from where they rested their cheek on his inner thigh, and the color of the sight was nearly lost too soon. The moon had risen during their play, putting them in the shadow of their tree, forcing darkvision to supplement the dead of night. 

“I have,” Étoile scoffed a laugh, playing with the hem of Astarion’s dress shirt, “a ridiculous request.”

“I doubt it will be so unusual,” Astarion droned, laying his hand on their head and swiping his thumb back through their hair. “I’m prepared to indulge you,” he did his best to have his tone portray mock annoyance and inconvenience, tossing his head back and shooing his fingertips through Étoile’s hair as if exasperated.

Still Étoile cocked their head and pursed their lips, braced for the worst. Rolling onto their side, they laid next to Astarion, and unbuckled the bag from their thigh.

“What’s this?” Astarion meant to sound eager, but could tell he sounded judgmental, skeptic of his friend’s prolonged silence, which Étoile maintained as they opened the bag, grimacing in embarrassment. From the pouch, Étoile pulled a well-made rag and a bar of soap, and pressed them into Astarion’s chest until he accepted them in his left hand.

“I’m wondering if you’d wash up before I put my mouth on you? Either, I can help, so you can keep out of the river, or I can give you your privacy, whichever you’d prefer?”

“We’re fucking out in the middle of nowhere,” Astarion balked, teasing, “and you want to make a ritual of it?”

Étoile pawed at Astarion’s crotch again, pleading with a pout. “If you would?”

Astarion sighed, and bent his knee up to force Étoile away from him before starting to stand. “I don’t want to take my shirt off.”

“At all?” Étoile asked in surprise.

With a nod, Astarion brought the bar of soap to his chin, taking in the scent. “You know how I asked if there’s anywhere you didn’t want to be touched?”

Étoile’s eyes blew wide as they pulled themselves to their feet. “I should have reciprocated?”

“Not exactly,” Astarion allowed, tilting his head. He smiled, distracted and sad. “But it would have been easier if you didn’t have darkvision.” Anger slipped into Astarion’s tone as he explained, “I don’t want you looking at my back. Your fingers are fine, maybe your lips even, but…”

Étoile swallowed, picturing a gaping wound, or some other unnatural thing that overtly displayed Astarion’s undeath.

“Then I don’t want to see it,” they assured him, a nervous smile twitching on their lips when Astarion’s upset flickered with relief. “May I ask why?”

“My—” Astarion began, but cut himself off, coughing. He would start the process of failing to call Cazador his master if it killed him. “Cazador has left me with a gift. A poem. He considered himself quite the artist, and used many of his slaves as canvas. He composed and carved the one on my back over the course of a night. He made a lot of revisions as he went.”

Étoile pulled Astarion closer as he spoke, shivering a little about the fine fabric against their bare skin, and the vampire’s cool body against the heat of their own. They kept their hands on the small of his back, experimentally slipping one up the back of his shirt, chasing the feel of any such scars. They wanted to worry aloud that this might not be a poem, that it could be how Cazador and the Gur had found them so quickly in the swamplands, or could be the reason Cazador sought him now, if it were a map or spell component or the like, but they found they could suggest no such thing to Astarion while he looked so vulnerable. They tried to focus on his words, rather than their worries, and to think of the night when he’d have lay in place, unable to argue, perhaps compelled to enjoy it, while his vampire lord did his work.

“Did he read it to you?” Perhaps this question would answer some others, and alleviate Étoile’s concerns.

“No,” Astarion answered, looking between Étoile’s mouth and their gaze. “And with no reflection, I’ve no way to know what it might say. No desire to know.” He chuckled, mirthlessly. “Under different circumstances perhaps I could have laid in the sun for a minute or two, to scorch the thing from my skin, but… I’d be revolted to have you read it to me. To hear his words in your mouth. And to think of a stranger doing it, without knowing what it means…”

“That won’t happen,” Étoile insisted. “Not while we travel together.”

Astarion might’ve scoffed a tenday ago, but now, after having been brought low in combat on more than one occasion, there was something to be said for the security Étoile’s presence brought him. He kissed them instead, a quiet, empty, grateful gesture, before nodding them away from him. “Privacy, then,” he agreed, gesturing with the soap.

They traded spots when Astarion was done, and Étoile washed and skipped back barefoot, over cold grass and soft earth, damp with the smells of lavender and river water.

“This is a lot more _involved_ than I was imagining,” Astarion confessed, but any annoyance was undercut by the smile that was tickled out of him by the sight of his friend’s nakedness.

“Well now’s the fun part,” Étoile assured him, tossing their remaining clothing on their pile of things as they fell to their knees upon the bedroll, swiping back their hair. “Come here.”

Their hands coiled around Astarion’s thighs as he stepped towards them, bare but for his dress shirt, and feeling more exposed for it, what with his weakness and confession on display. Étoile seemed no worse for it however, in Astarion’s opinion, and they looked at him with all the desire he’d been forced to feel these past two centuries.

The reflection was uncomfortable, but this was a choice he was making, with the threat of death or mindflayer-corruption easing the pain of it. If there was anyone he could choose to share such a moment with in these last few days, the careful, prurient beauty currently kissing his thighs would certainly make the list.

Wrapping their left arm around Astarion’s hips, Étoile held up the hem of Astarion’s shirt with the back of their right hand, exposing him, less invested now than he may have been when they were kissing earlier. His skin was as clean and smooth here as the rest of him that Étoile could see, and so they let their warm palm curve around the shaft of his cock while their fingers gently scratched up through his pubic hair.

“Owhh.”

Étoile smiled against Astarion’s thigh, encouraged by his soft, comfortable noise. Lolling their tongue against his thigh, they curled their hand around him entire, stroking him at times and simply pulsing their grip at others, while rubbing their thumb in circles along the underside of the head of his cock.

Astarion sighed, stretching his hands out over Étoile’s shoulders, his eyes flickering closed as he asked, “Should I—?”

“Relax,” Étoile insisted.

“Mm. Darling, I …”

“Are you objecting?”

“No.” Astarion opened his eyes again then, and once more found himself infatuated by Étoile’s smile; eager as they bit their lower lip, and then satisfied as they squeezed their grip tighter.

“Then relax.”

Étoile nuzzled their way up Astarion’s side until they could bite upon his hip, their left hand creeping back towards themselves, fingertips caressing across the base of his ass until they could slip between Astarion’s thighs. Most of their hand and arm cradled him then, their index finger earning a giggle and a sway of Astarion’s head as they stroked up towards his balls.

And then they were letting go of him, and turning away to their things, so Astarion whined in a mixture of disappointment and confusion.

“You tell me to relax and then abandon me?”

“You are **hardly** abandoned,” Étoile said, amused and comfortable, and turning back to Astarion with their quarry in hand.

“A prophylactic?”

Astarion's tone hinted at mockery and surprise, and Étoile failed to combat their blush as they diverted.

“I bought some from the tiefling merchant.”

“Vampirism doesn’t worry you, but this—?”

“You might not be victim to anything but your condition, but I don’t know what you carry,” Étoile explained, opening the package, “or what you’re capable of.”

“We could die tomorrow,” Astarion teased, but this time he wore his insincerity like a cape, grandiose and exaggerated, and purely for procuring their attention.

“Then I will not be plagued by discomfort for my last few hours,” Étoile answered, shaking their head as they sought to dress Astarion in the condom, relieving the item to his care when Astarion brought his hands to the task.

“There—” Astarion started to say, when he was finished, silenced instantly as Étoile took hold of his wrists and captured his cock in their mouth.

After a huff of air, Astarion smiled so relaxed and unguarded that Étoile felt vindicated in making a show of it, tilting their head to and fro as they bobbed on Astarion’s growing enthusiasm. As they pulled away from him on an exhale through their nose, Étoile brought Astarion’s hands atop their head and requested, “Touch me while I do this?”

“You thought you’d have to ask?”

Running his hands through Étoile’s hair, Astarion found himself pulled forward, with one of his partner’s hands grabbing his ass, and the other coiling around his thigh. Astarion felt unsure if they were preparing to trip or catch him, or both, but still he leaned into it, another grateful sigh hissing past parted lips. Seeing he had Étoile’s attention, Astarion cocked his head back in a display of savored indulgence, and then shared a chuckle with the lover between his legs, leaning away just enough to tilt their head and kiss along his shaft to his pelvis.

Étoile nuzzled against Astarion’s soft skin, humming contentedly. They could feel the blush growing on their cheeks, creeping up their ears, as they wrapped their left hand back around Astarion’s cock and let themselves linger in position; a long, gentle kiss signaling a change in activity as Étoile settled closer to the blanket.

Astarion could see how Étoile was all nerves and curiosity, more so than he’d expected, but even among those feelings — which smoldered in the depths of the fires of his own desire too, if he looked deeper — there was that joy that Astarion felt as though he were leaching from them; a ray of sunlight, not meant for vampires, at all, but of his caliber for certain. The guilt was half-formed, however, unable to manifest with a tongue on his balls.

He scratched his nails across Étoile’s scalp as he clenched his fists in their hair, and they wondered whether even here and now Astarion would be fussy. They leaned away again to look up at him, red eyes lidded, lazy and, tentatively, comfortable. Soothing him and reassuring themselves, Étoile caressed their hand up Astarion’s hip and around to his stomach, slow and deliberate, attentive in how they touched Astarion inside his shirt.

With their hand laid flat against his cool skin, Étoile tried their best to feel how Astarion flexed and breathed, while they quietly returned their lips to his erection.

A soft noise of approval and an involuntary roll of Astarion’s hips as he adjusted his stance, had Étoile lowering their hand again anyway, to hold their lover’s cock in place with the curve between their thumb and forefinger as they moved faster, groaning their agreement.

“Oh, fuck.”

Étoile took no care of presentation, and sought only to shove Astarion further down his pleasurable descent; still concerned that they’d stolen his initial wine-induced indulgence with their proclivities. They lapped around the head of his cock, letting the pulse of how they moved him in their mouth dictate their pace as they shifted back and forth, at times urgently and at others less so, depending on whether Astarion had the patience to stand still.

“Nghuhh! Darling, darling,” Astarion warned, leaning his hips away from them, gently tugging their hair.

After a cough, Étoile swept a hand across their mouth and chin.

“Let me—”

“Astarion,” Étoile interrupted, swiping their hands together and then laying them on his thighs, their expression imploring him before their words. “Give me something to be smug about.”

Astarion touched the base of his cock absently, confirming the position of the condom and wondering at the many ways he could fulfill their request. None that had come to mind fit with their following sentence.

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“I won’t touch your shirt,” Étoile said in assurance. “But maybe I can see about extending similar pleasure with less risk of setting you off?”

Astarion grimaced. “Please use a different euphemism, if you must.”

Shaking their head only slightly, Étoile amended, “With less risk of making you cum.”

Astarion licked his lips and nodded. It suited how he was accustomed to sex, and to thinking of sex, and it was both a test and a relief, to be turning away from his partner, trying to pose himself just so, to maintain that presentation of sultry confidence, while trusting that Étoile was not prepared to stake or stab him, and that no orders, involuntary or otherwise, would find the pair of them out on the riverbank. There was nothing so terrifying as having a moment to relax, to be blinded by comfort and stimulation; nothing so tempting as diving headlong into bed (so to speak) with anyone … other than who he was trying to forget, for the next few hours at least.

Warm hands chased up the backs of his thighs to tuck his shirt up around his waist, and gentle kisses curved from below his ass around to his hip, and Astarion hummed his encouragement, swaying into the touch of Étoile’s large hands on his ass.

Étoile kneaded the muscle, curving their right hand around Astarion’s waist as their left crept lower, feeling where Astarion’s thighs were tender from combat and crouching. They wanted to say something, but their positioning made them wonder about words, and so instead they kissed atop Astarion’s ass while opening another condom set before their knees, suffering a snicker from their partner.

They used a small knife to cut the condom open, and ran their left hand up Astarion’s leg, until their thumb was gliding up between his ass cheeks, so they could set their protection in place. Astarion shifted, and was again aware of Étoile’s elvish meticulousness, and thought for moment to complain about it, but it seemed he’d done enough teasing of their indecision, as only a little moan, a soft peep of surprise, passed his lips when he opened them.

Étoile licked just beside Astarion’s asshole a few times, feeling their lover tense and relax, and then repeating the motion for a minute more in case Astarion needed to acclimatize to the sensation. They pulled away, and ran the side of their thumb up and down where their tongue had been; stopping and loosening their hold of Astarion to ask, “Good so far?”

“Mmm,” Astarion murmured. “You better not be finished.”

Rolling their eyes about Astarion, Étoile smiled as they caressed their right hand back around their lover’s hip until they were once again holding Astarion’s ass in both hands. Their thumbs pressed him apart, and held the condom in place, so that they could more easily reach the most sensitive spaces of their lover’s body. They continued licking around his entrance at first, leaving soft, full lipped kisses, and then playful empty bites as they found their way to the swell of his ass. The pace of their tongue had increased considerably by the time they saw fit to lap across his hole, and Astarion’s right knee twitched, causing his body to wobble against them.

Étoile tilted their chin closer, at first to ravish Astarion as a result of this misstep, but then to tilt their head back, enough to part their lips from his body and groan a soft noise of arousal.

Astarion released a breath he’d been holding, and his whole body shuddered from the weight of it.

“Oh? Astarion...” Étoile soothed, creeping their hands across his body, leaving another biting kiss on his bare skin. Sliding their right hand around his waist, Étoile took his cock with a careful grip, and traced their left hand down the back of his thigh, ensuring he was not wholly encased when they nuzzled their open mouth against his body in case he needed to pull away.

Astarion huffed, his body jittering up and away until they were back in place, where Étoile smiled, and flexed their tongue in quick short bursts and caressed him with long soft licks in time with pulses of their fist around the head of his cock. To keep the condom where they needed it, they raised their left hand again, pressing to and fro with their fingers, to keep from hindering their oral affection.

Astarion was surprised by his own panting, less so when his stomach and cock started to flex, allowing himself to recognize, beyond his body, how good he felt. He moaned when Étoile let go of him, their right hand held around the front of his hip, their pace slowing, more kisses than tonguework, as they started to stand, pulling the condom away, leaving a kiss on his spine, over the shirt, and then embracing him from behind.

Astarion turned his upper body, raising his right arm so he could wrap it around Étoile’s neck, enjoying the stretch and the tangle of the embrace. They kissed, bumping noses and biting lips, as Astarion turned around entirely, his mouth wandering across the crook of their jaw and the expanse of their neck. Their heartbeat hammered against his lips ... and he couldn’t resist forcing his fangs in at this new angle, euphoria firing in his nerves as a splash of blood coated his mouth to the sounds of his whimpering lover.

His embrace around them tightened, though his arms moved to a more natural and comfortable position. With a quick suck that set their blood flowing, Astarion pulled away enough to lave below the bite mark with his tongue; an insincere apology. His desire to take, and to feel that what was taken was earned and right and deserved, outweighed his worry about their injury now; they would heal … and maybe he would too, Gods willing.

“Lay down, lover,” Astarion whispered. “It’s my turn to explore.”

It wasn’t a fluid motion for Étoile to accommodate Astarion’s instruction, but with some adjustments made to the bedroll, they stretched out onto their back, and Astarion crouched down on one knee, straddling their thigh. They handed Astarion the condoms, and he set them aside as he let himself fall forward until he hovered over them, sharing a few lazy kisses until they were smiling about the way he dragged his lips over their mouth, and shifted back to kiss across their chest, his groping hands more forceful than before, amorous and wanton.

“Oh?” Astarion observed in a dark tone, amused and aroused as he pinched Étoile’s nipples again, this time holding on long enough to bring attention to how their breath hitched and caught in quiet, happy, pleas. “These are sensitive.”

“Are you mocking me?” Étoile whined, as Astarion let go.

He answered with an almost sad tilt of his head, pouting through his affront, “You think I’m so cruel?”

Étoile couldn’t answer, hands curled in Astarion’s white hair as he sucked upon a mouthful of their breast, skin tickling against sharp teeth and soothed with a careful tongue. Étoile whimpered and cooed while Astarion had his way with them, smiling around their skin as they curled a leg up over his ass. This was where their bliss overtook their joy, and it filled Astarion with such satisfaction.

He licked the tips of his index, middle and ring finger of his left hand and continued playing with their nipple as he stretched out to kiss them again, open mouthed and far more illicit than anything that had preceded it.

“You’re a beast,” Étoile whispered, practically into Astarion’s mouth, as the kiss ended. Their eyes flickered across his face, full of affection, but this quickly melted away, as that flicker of vulnerability tugged at Astarion’s features.

“Is that what you want from me?” he wondered aloud. “To be the beast?”

Étoile shook their head, and didn’t shy away from Astarion’s hands, fixing their hair before he sat back on his heels. “I want what you want,” they said.

“What **_I_ ** want?” Astarion asked, teasing, as if he were incredulous.

Étoile tried not to choke, feeling suddenly sad, and exposed, and afraid. “You don’t want this?” They took a breath, shifting away and sitting up. “Is this not what you suggested?”

Astarion closed his eyes and turned his head away for a moment. When he looked to them again he was smiling, though part of that was broken, and that was why Étoile didn’t fight him when Astarion leaned in for another kiss, wrapping a hand around the back of their head.

“My love,” he promised, tearing open a new condom. “How could I not want this?” He kissed their cheek. “Pleasure.” And then their ear, fitting the condom around the fore and middle fingers on his right hand. “Yours.” He sucked upon their earlobe, curling his left hand around the back of their neck. “Mine.” And, tentatively, crept his right hand between their legs, petting at their slick lips through the boundary they insisted upon.

Étoile sighed, or sobbed, it was hard for Astarion to tell as they pressed their temple against the side of his head. Slowly, he pulled back to press another kiss upon his lover’s grateful mouth, and then innumerable more as he rubbed the front of their mound, fingertips ghosting over their clit and caressing down between their lips, taking his time to prove his point and finish his thought. “Our collective ecstasy.”

Astarion had to adjust his positioning then, with the way Étoile sought to spread their legs; and how he longed to dive down and drink from the heavy veins of their strong thighs, a better distraction than his arousal and speech had been from his actual dilemma.

There was no easy way to beg Étoile to not want for him, or to not be what he wanted in a lover and a friend. Death, destruction, or, in a worst case … Cazador would come for him in the coming days … and it would be better if this were just a drunken tryst in the dead of night, and not a confession, a bonding, and a promise to be broken.

His fingers broached the warmth of their body, and Étoile leaned away from him, their weight back on their elbows as they sought to help him get the angle right. Their expression was wanting, delirious and desperate, and Astarion curled his left hand around their thigh for a moment, balancing himself.

_“Astarion.”_

“Here, come here.”

Hearing his name in such a tone was wonderful, but he wanted to make the most of the little details Étoile had graced him with this evening, and he had them lay on his left arm so that he could nuzzle into their chest, and suck upon a nipple as he played with them, rubbing their pussy and slipping his fingers inside them while they shivered in his arms.

“Astarion, I need…”

“Yes? Étoile?”

Astarion was shocked, that somehow, him saying their name after all their intimacy would be what might crack something inside him to make this feel real, to make him feel present. No master to call upon, no strangers to seduce or entertain … just Étoile, only who he’d invited, with his own desire and bad decisions.

“Astarion. Please fuck me.”

“Oh-ho, yes. Yes, of course.”

While they repositioned Astarion tossed the condom from his fingers off to the side, which left him dressed in nothing but his last bit of protection, and he settled between Étoile’s legs as they nodded up at him.

“… Yes…”

The word was so small, but their longing was unmistakable.

Étoile stretched out their hands to Astarion’s arms and shoulders, at first bending their parted knees at his direction, but then raising them to press their ankles into his lower back, encouraging him closer.

Astarion’s expression was all passion and intensity as he brought them together, hissing through clenched teeth as he sunk into the warm, wet, welcoming pressure of Étoile’s cunt.

There was no sense in starting slow, pent up as the pair of them were, and prepared as Étoile had been, Astarion drove himself back and forth with all the patience of a hedonist, pulling moans from his lover like gravity. Étoile tried to slip a leg between them, and caught up in his passions, Astarion would not take it as a sign to slow unless they told him so, and simply accepted their left ankle on his chest with a quick touch of one hand. He gasped, nearly choking on his breath when they rested the back of their left heel on his shoulder, and moved as if to collect their other leg.

“Mm-mm,” Étoile disagreed, hooking their right heel around his waist.

“Sorry,” Astarion confirmed, shaking his head but agreeing, holding one arm around their thigh and resting the other on their hip, swiping his thumb across the top of their mound, away from where they were connected.

Humbled by their plea, Astarion moved slower now, worried he might’ve been presuming too much even before thinking to place their right heel on his chest. This gave him time to watch his lover, and balance enough to reach out to fondle their chest. Étoile blushed and held Astarion’s arm encouragingly, tossing their head back in a cascade of hair and blood and ink, and Astarion felt every concern but indulgence flee his mind. It helped immensely that his lover was clenching upon his cock and driving him on with a bend of their leg on each inward thrust.

Slowly, he let himself fall forward, guided by their leg and his own momentum, to hover over them on his hands and knees, and of all things it felt liberating, to be kneeling and supplicant. He could have shared his body with anyone, but it would not have been like this, with his history both allowed to mean something and to be forgotten, to be allowed to fall to their desires with equal parts lust and understanding. Astarion stretched out for three kisses, moaning as Étoile bit and tugged on his lower lip, laying back in their rapture.

Lost together, in the throws of passion, in the dark of night.

Étoile’s leg released Astarion’s back, but only to bend and straighten, stimulated and stimulating as they flexed and relaxed themselves around Astarion’s solid cock. Their orgasm came slowly, hands tracing the sides of Astarion’s body, moving to embrace him, as much as they could, as they humped up towards him, their right leg curling around the back of his thigh. It was only when their peak was mostly past them that Étoile announced it, a moan upon their lover’s cheek, “I’m cumming!”

“You’re beautiful,” Astarion answered, leaning away to collect their legs this time, raising his eyebrows in question, and moving at their signal to press their knees up to their chest. Using their body as leverage, Astarion jerked himself at the new angle, so that their connection was a soft, smooth glide punctuated by solid pressure in just the right places, and the sounds of his hips on their backside.

And between the changes, and Astarion losing his composure and racing ahead to his own release, Étoile’s body skipped them through a second, stronger orgasm, their body flexing greedily around Astarion as he came.

The couple was left breathless, pulling apart with jittery movements and wordless, wheezing noises. Astarion repressed hysterics, as he kissed upon their mouth and jaw, even as Étoile tried to bat him away for the space to catch their breath. They relented easily, kissing his lips, smiling curiously about his joy, waiting for him to speak.

“Darling,” Astarion giggled, “that was just what the healer prescribed.”

Étoile kissed him again, relieved. “Yes.”

Astarion sighed as if savoring a great indulgence, giggling again when Étoile turned from him to start collecting the waste of their condoms.

“If I have but one disappointment,” Astarion exaggerated.

“Oh, do tell,” Étoile groaned, amused and sarcastic, rolling back towards him, and Astarion laughed again, curling their hair behind their ear.

“I was disappointed there wasn’t more of a garden,” he teased, trailing a finger over the rose tattoo on their neck, and the unadorned skin down across their chest.

Étoile rolled their eyes and scolded, “Give me your condom.”

Astarion tied it off and did as he was told, and Étoile held it between their hands with the rest of the waste, and with a glow of magic, burned it away to nothing. Étoile looked at Astarion more seriously afterwards, tilting their head and eyeing his blouse. They confessed, “I’m not often topless either.”

Their implication was plain, a tattoo artist whom they did not know would not have their leave to ink their body. Astarion diverted.

“You barely know _me_ ,” he teased, smug, and leaned in for another kiss.

“I know,” Étoile agreed, letting their lips find his, smiling halfway through the kiss, lighter for it. “Thank you…”

“Mmm,” Astarion purred. “It has been, _in_ _every_ _way_ , my pleasure.”

“Good. Um, give me a moment.”

Étoile parted from him then, taking some of their things and the soap back to the riverbank, and left alone, Astarion stood and pulled on his unclothes, and stepped away from their bedroll, listening to the forest, watching the dark, letting reality settle back into his mind. He was still standing when Étoile returned to the bedroll, and turned at the ruffling of them fussing with leather and metal pieces.

They were sat up, cross-legged, dressed in their shirts and undershorts, tossing their armor aside, and Astarion smirked about the familiarity of it. He stretched out his hands towards them in his approach, and Étoile happily took them and pulled Astarion down in front of him.

“You don’t need your armor?”

“No,” Étoile assured Astarion as the pair of them tangled their legs together and wiggled them down into the bedroll, which Astarion pulled up to their waists.

“You can’t warm the dead, you know.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Étoile teased, kissing the side of Astarion’s ear, keeping their arms around him. They asked, more seriously, “Would you like to redress? To meditate in camp? I’d … rather stay, even if you do go. Just for a few hours.”

“As if anyone at camp could compare to your company,” Astarion assured them. “Even with your affinity for digging up the past.”

“Only the present now,” Étoile suggested. “Until sunrise.”

“Truly? You don’t want me extolling your performance? Your taste? Your voice?”

“You like my voice?” Étoile asked, surprised.

Astarion laughed, amused, but then spoke with sincerity. “I will remember how you called my name until I sprout tentacles, or daylight finds me.”

Étoile squeezed their arms around him, and wondered whether the doom was getting to them too, as they wished they could feel justified in telling the man in their arms that they loved him, at least now, in the present, while he was full of verve and sarcasm and poorly concealed lust … and sympathy, and … Daylight was coming for both of them.

“And I will remember how you answered me,” Étoile said, surprising Astarion into lowering his arms, curling his hands around their wrists as they held him, and saying nothing.

The couple let their thoughts and fantasies overtake them, meditating for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love a kudos or comment, especially if you're a guest!
> 
> I thought about cutting everything between Étoile and Astarion's first conversation and them showing up at his secluded spot, but as I might visit other nights at camp with them in other fics (including the aftermath of Gale's reveal), and because I'm polyamorous and might eventually explore that with these characters, I decided to leave it.
> 
> I did not understand the implication that characters with darkvision wouldn't see his tattoos or that characters who don't sleep would "sleep lightly." So I wrote this while trying to stay true to the other elements of the canon interaction. I have no regrets writing condoms into this fic.
> 
> No one was able to proof read this for me, so please feel free to let me know about spelling or punctuation errors only. I'm not going to change characterization or lore or deal with large grammatical errors.
> 
> Edit: I made myself fanart that you can look at [HERE](https://omgkalyppso.tumblr.com/post/637330914831106048/content-id-art-of-astarion-and-a-baldurs-gate).


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